Judas
by Reservoir Saint
Summary: A group of elite soldiers are given the ultimate task...transport a reprogrammed Terminator back through time so he can protect their leader. Lead-in to T2. CHAPTER THREE IS UP AND READY TO BE READ! SORRY FOR THE WAIT.
1. Arrival

Author's Note: This is my tribute to the Terminator saga, so masterfully created by James Cameron. Enjoy and review!!!  
  
The Terminator: Judas  
  
By Reservoir Saint  
  
--Chapter I: Arrival--  
  
The corporal ejected the clip from his assault rifle and promptly loaded another back in. He raised the digital binoculars to his eyes and rose to gaze through the windows of the charred automobile's steel frame. After a second of trying to position himself for a shot, he reached his hand in the window and pulled a skull from the neck of a skeleton in the front seat. He looked at it and threw it aside, muttering under his breath.  
  
He turned to the man crouched beside him. "Don't like to disturb the dead like that, sir," he said. "It's a personal thing. But when there's an obstacle in your way, you make exceptions." The man nodded as he added a scope to his own assault rifle. "Understood," he replied, his eyes still fixed on his weapon.  
  
The young corporal still crouched in front of the frame of the window and adjusted the binoculars. "Two more HK's, sir," he reported, "both about 1,000 yards southeast." The man beside him moved to position himself in front of the hood of the vehicle and rested his assault rifle on it. He squinted into the scope and rotated its cylinder focus. "How far are we from the headquarters?" he asked the corporal.  
  
"Not far, sir. They're anticipating our arrival. I think we can go stealth the rest of the way."  
  
The man's expression as he looked through the scope remained unchanged. He continued to zoom in on the two Hunter-Killers in front of them. He cocked his assault rifle and proceeded to take aim on the machines. "Captain Anderson?" the corporal said. "What are your orders?"  
  
Anderson lowered his assault rifle and looked at the corporal. "Do it," he commanded. "Radio HQ and tell them we're on our way. Tell them we may have two HK's on our tail and to prepare for possible engagement."  
  
The corporal nodded and took out his walkie-talkie. "HQ, HQ," he said, speaking into the radio. "Delta 1 to HQ. Come in, HQ."  
  
The radio crackled with life as a female voice came out of the speaker. "Roger, Delta 1, this is HQ. Do you have the human cargo? Over."  
  
"Affirmative, HQ. Captain Anderson has been picked up and we are en route to headquarters. Be advised we have been engaged by a squadron of Hunter- Killers and have proceeded to clear a perimeter. Over."  
  
There was silence for roughly a minute. Captain Anderson knew the female dispatcher was reporting the news to her superiors and awaiting their orders. Before long the female returned. "Roger, Delta 1. What is your ETA to headquarters?"  
  
"Under two minutes, HQ. We've evaded the final two HK's and have them sighted at 1,000 yards southeast. Over."  
  
There was another pause in the conversation, but not nearly as long as the first. "Delta 1, you have been cleared to return to base and advised not to engage the HK's for Captain Anderson's protection. Over."  
  
The corporal shot a look at Anderson and shook his head. "Guess they don't want you hurt, sir. But they ought to have a bit more confidence in a Ranger," he said. Nevertheless, the corporal responded with obedience in the radio. "Roger, HQ. Delta 1's ETA, two minutes. Over."  
  
"Roger, Delta 1. We'll roll out the red carpet. HQ, over and out." The corporal hooked the radio to his belt and picked up the assault rifle he had put beside him. Anderson lowered from his position behind the hood of the car and waited for the corporal to lead the way to headquarters. Anderson knew his way around better than the young man sent to bring him in, but headquarters had changed location since the last time Anderson had been there. Weaving in and out of ditches and cars, the two quickly and quietly moved past the infrared detection of the Hunter-Killers.  
  
"Headquarters is not that far ahead," the corporal whispered. "We should be there in a minute." Before long, the two came to concrete stairwell broken and barely standing from the explosions that have rocked this area for so long. Anderson looked at the corporal. "Down there?" he asked.  
  
"Yes, sir. Used to be an old subway entrance before Judgment Day. After the T-800s came, we were forced to relocate and move the entrance subterranean. That way we can watch exactly who gains access to headquarters. Headquarters is above ground, though. You just have to go down and up to get there." The corporal led the way down the dark stairwell under they came to a solid steel barricade. The corporal pounded on the steel resulting in an echo that rocked the already unstable foundation of the stairwell. "Good God," Anderson muttered. "If the Terminators can't find the place, they can at least listen for it."  
  
The two waited until a small piece of the barricade slid open to reveal a set of eyes surveying the men. "Identification," the stern voice on the other end commanded. The corporal stepped forward. "Henriksen, Robert J. HR Number 3589246-179. Operative returning from rendezvous mission Whiskey Tango Delta with human cargo." After Henriksen finished, the eyes fell on Anderson. "Cargo, identify," the eyes said.  
  
Anderson didn't step forward as Corporal Henriksen had done; instead, he remained in the darkness, with only his weapon visible. "Anderson."  
  
"HR Number, Anderson?"  
  
"Shadow 1." The eyes behind the barricade widened as he looked at Anderson. "Right," he said. Seconds later the barricade creaked open, just wide enough for the two to squeeze through. On the other side, seven men stood armed with miniature machine guns. In front of them were five German Shepherds, who quickly moved to the two and sniffed the soles of their feet. After a few laps around the new arrivals, they left the two and the seven men lowered their weapons.  
  
"Welcome to the Human Resistance Headquarters, Captain Anderson," the man on the end said. "I'm Sergeant Quinn. I've been ordered to take you to our briefing room. General Connor will meet you there."  
  
"Will Corporal Henriksen be joining us?" Anderson asked.  
  
"No, sir. This is strictly confidential."  
  
Anderson turned to Henriksen and shook his hand. "That was some nice fighting back there, corporal, with the HK's. You're a fine soldier." Henriksen straightened and saluted Captain Anderson. "Thank you, sir. It was an honor fighting alongside you."  
  
Anderson returned the salute. As he turned to follow Sergeant Quinn, Henriksen stopped him. "Sir," Henriksen said, "let me ask you something."  
  
"Go ahead."  
  
"You think I got what it takes to be a Ranger?" he asked. Anderson lowered his head and chuckled quietly to himself. He knew this was coming. Every young soldier he's ever run across since he began commanding the Shadow Rangers have all wondered the same thing. "It's not my decision to make, kid," he said, lifting his head and looking at Henriksen. "Maybe in the future.but then again, if I do my job, the war might be over."  
  
Sergeant Quinn turned back toward Anderson. "Sir, we really ought to be going. There's not much time." Anderson nodded and followed Quinn as they made their way through the narrow corridors.  
  
--to be continued.--  
  
Coming Soon.Chapter II: The Directive 


	2. The Directive

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed the first chapter. Sorry if it was a little hard to get into, I hope this next chapter will shed some light on the story. Enjoy and review!!!  
  
--Chapter II: The Directive-  
  
Anderson stood at the jagged hole punched out of the concrete barrier of the briefing room. The opening was just at eye level and was only a couple feet off the ground outside. He gazed out into the dark oblivion of what was Los Angeles. Before him lay an endless sea of dust, steel, and death. All around him was death. What troubled him the most was that for hundreds of miles, there was not one breathing thing outside the protection of the Human Resistance. They were fighting a war against a foe that couldn't smell or taste. They were fighting a foe that was without emotion--a relentless horde that would not stop until every human was emotionlessly exterminated.  
  
The creation had rebelled against the creators. And the creators were dying.  
  
Anderson was aroused from his trance by a voice that had entered the room unnoticed. "It's peaceful tonight, isn't it?" He turned to see a medium- built, middle-aged man standing beside Sergeant Quinn. Along the left side of the newcomer's face ran a deep scar; his hair had begun to turn gray, but was still mostly dark. Anderson straightened his body and gave a crisp, respectful salute. "General Connor," he said sternly.  
  
Connor moved past Quinn and motioned for Anderson to lower his hand. "Please, Nick," Connor said. "There are no ranks in this room. You are my equal and we will conduct business as such. To the privates out there, I'm a general. To you, I'm your friend."  
  
"With all due respect, sir," Anderson replied, "you are my commander."  
  
Connor turned back to Sergeant Quinn, who had remained in the same position. "Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all." Quinn saluted and moved quietly out the door. Connor turned to face Anderson and shook his hand. "It's good to see you, Nick."  
  
"You too, General. It's been too long."  
  
Connor nodded with a chuckle and moved to the makeshift table in the center of the small room. On the middle of the table was a slowly burning candle, which Connor moved to the corner. In its place he unfolded an aged map of what used to be the southwest United States. "No doubt you can guess why you've been called here," he said to Anderson, although his eyes were still fixed upon the map before him. "We've uncovered a threat. It must be dealt with."  
  
"I've guessed as much, sir," Anderson replied.  
  
Connor looked at him. "I'm not going to lie to you, Nick. This war is getting harder to fight with every passing moment. We are losing men and the machines are gaining technology. We've fallen behind. Sometimes I wonder how long we have until we can no longer fight them."  
  
"We can fight them, sir. Every human in the resistance would unquestionably take up a weapon for you. They look up to you, sir. They'd follow you anywhere."  
  
"I know," Connor replied. "At first, I wondered if I had what it took to lead these people. I wondered if I could protect them, if I could give them something to fight for, you know?"  
  
"And you have, General."  
  
"I have you to thank for that, Nick." "Sir?"  
  
"Without the Shadow Rangers I wouldn't exist. It was you and your men who uncovered the displacement equipment, and because of that we were able to send Reese back. If Reese hadn't gone back, Nick, this war would've been over long before it ever began."  
  
Anderson nodded. He remembered when he and his squad, the Shadow Rangers, extracted the time displacement unit that sent Kyle Reese to 1984 in order to guard Connor's mother against a Terminator sent back for assassination. Anderson never could understand how Reese was chosen over some of the more experienced men, but the general was adamant in his decision that the young man be the one to go back. Even if Reese hadn't volunteered to go through, Anderson knew that Connor would've selected him anyway. There was something about Reese that Connor always respected, almost admired...  
  
"That's why when I started the Shadow Rangers I knew you were the man to lead them," Connor said. Anderson must've have lost concentration thinking about the events with Reese. "You think like me, Nick. You always have. I knew that if I could trust anyone to lead this squad, it would be you. I wouldn't have anyone else be the final word out there."  
  
"Thank you, General."  
  
Connor held up his hand, as if to delay the gratitude. "That's why I need your help again. The war rests on this."  
  
"What is it, sir?"  
  
Connor removed a series of folded papers from under the map gave them to Nick. "They're transmissions, Nick. Directly from..."  
  
"Skynet," Anderson muttered as he scanned the transmissions. "According to this, it's building an army. My god--these numbers. They can't be right."  
  
"I wish they weren't. Skynet's manufacturing an army bigger than the multitudes of Hell itself."  
  
"For what purpose?"  
  
"They're going to strike. And hard. Right now, they can't find us. But with that amount of fighters, it won't take long. But not all of them are for us."  
  
Anderson looked up from the paper. "What do you mean 'not all for us?'"  
  
"It's a convoy. Some of them are moving. They're heading south."  
  
Anderson shuffled through the papers. The transmissions gave encrypted directions. But to what? Anderson shuffled through some more. Readouts, status reports, system operations, and then...  
  
"Oh my God," he whispered. He looked up at Connor. "There's another displacement depot."  
  
Connor nodded slowly as he looked down at the map. "We thought we blew the only one, but we should've known Skynet would've backed itself up. There's one more depot that we know of"--he pointed to a spot around what used to be San Diego--"here, just beyond the San Diego Ruins. That's what the machine convoy is for." He looked up at Anderson. After a brief pause: "They're sending another Terminator back, Nick"  
  
Anderson sat down on a chair next to the table. Connor continued speaking. "We weren't sure what to make of the transmissions when we first intercepted them. We thought it could've been a trap to lure us out in the open. But more came. The machines call the depot 'The White Throne.'"  
  
"That's from the Bible," Anderson said. "It's the place where all humans are condemned. It's called the Final Judgment."  
  
Connor nodded. "I guess Skynet's more superstitious than we thought," he replied. "But that's not all. We found reports that indicate they're not sending the machine to 1984, but instead somewhere around the early 1990s, when I was a boy."  
  
"It's much easier to assassinate a child," Anderson muttered.  
  
"That's no doubt what they think. But there's more," he continued. "A T- 800 is not going back. The reports indicate that they're sending something 'new.' A prototype, we don't know the specifics, but we know it's the most powerful cyborg they've ever created. It has some sort of chameleon-like technology. It's a shape-shifter."  
  
Anderson stood up and removed a folded piece of old paper from his shirt pocket. He threw it on the table and moved back to the hole in the concrete wall. "Read it, General," he said with his back turned.  
  
Connor studied it but didn't say a word. Anderson looked back to see that he had sat down in the chair. Anderson moved away from the hole and walked back toward Connor. "I wasn't sure if this was valid when we uncovered it," he said. "We were deep in machine territory and intercepted some communications of our own. I hoped to God it wasn't true, but after hearing what you told me, sir, I'm sure this is the thing they're sending back. They call it the T-1000."  
  
Connor continued to read the paper. Before him were specifications and modifications that this new Terminator had been equipped with. It was made entirely of a liquid metal with the ability to move through virtually anything and the capability to form weapons with its hands. He set the paper down and stood back up. "How can they create something like that?"  
  
"I wish I knew."  
  
Anderson watched as Connor gathered the papers off the table. "It doesn't change things," he said sternly. "Your orders are still the same."  
  
"With all respect, General, what are my orders?"  
  
"The directive is this, Captain: you and your squad will set out for San Diego in 5 hours. The remaining Rangers are being brought here. From here, you will make the move to the Ruins and get to the depot before the machines do. Skynet's transmissions show you should have a good head start before the machine convoy is ready."  
  
"You want us to destroy the depot? I will admit, it may be a bit difficult, but I'm sure my team could..."  
  
"You're not going to destroy it, Captain," Connor said. "If you destroy it, that machine army still reaches us and all is lost. No, you and your men will make use of the depot. It's time to change things."  
  
"Wait a minute, sir," Anderson said. "You're not actually saying that the Resistance will try to send someone back to fight this 'T-1000,' are you?"  
  
"That's exactly what I'm saying, Nick. Something has to be done. If they succeed, I don't exist. If the depot is destroyed, we all die. But if you make it to the depot before they do and use the equipment, then they'll think that the T-1000 is going back through time unknown to us. You and the Rangers are the best the Resistance has to complete the mission."  
  
"This is crazy," Anderson said, shaking his head. "Even if my men did make it out there, which is slim to none, no human can stand a chance against a Terminator as advanced as this T-1000 in the 20th Century!"  
  
Connor sighed and looked at Anderson. "You're right, Nick." After a short pause he bent down toward the candle. "That's why it's not a human we're sending back."  
  
"What?"  
  
Connor blew out the candle and moved to the door. "Come with me and I'll show you."  
  
--to be continued.--  
  
Please review...ideas are also appreciated. If you have any ideas, leave them in the review or e-mail me (address is in my author profile)!!! 


	3. An Unholy Union

Author's Note: To the reviewers-you guys are driving me to keep this thing going. Continue dropping some comments and don't hesitate to give a few ideas. To new people-please review as well; anything you have to say is greatly appreciated. Now that that's out of the way: ENJOY!  
  
--Chapter III: An Unholy Union--  
  
"You are the first person to see what is behind this door that isn't already on the other side of it," Connor told Anderson outside of a closed off portion of the headquarters.  
  
Anderson had been trying to read Connor's body language ever since they left the makeshift briefing room, but in the midst of all the salutes and awe-inspired stares from the other members of the Resistance, the general hadn't revealed much. He was as stoic has he always had been around the subordinates, which Anderson mimicked as they made their way down the narrow, deteriorating corridors of the Human Resistance Headquarters.  
  
Anderson nodded at Connor's remark. "I take it you don't include yourself in that statistic, General."  
  
Connor chuckled. "Touché, Captain...you are the second person to see what is behind this door." Connor turned to a keypad that had been wired to the lock of the door. After punching in a series of numbers, Anderson heard the mechanisms of the lock click into place as Connor slowly opened the door and ushered Anderson inside.  
  
Anderson had never seen more computers in one room in all his life. Only a teenager when Judgment Day occured, Anderson spent a good portion of his life fearing computers, for he-much like many of the survivors of the nuclear fire-saw the processors as the enemy. Where there was a computer, there might also be a network; and where there was a network, there was Skynet.  
  
The only things visible when Anderson and Connor entered the room were the backs of monitors connected and suspended from various parts of the room. Most of the technicians and personnel-totaling fewer than ten people-were huddled around the screens, shuffling in front of and around them. The monitors blocked Anderson's view of whatever it was they were working on.  
  
Most of the light sources in the room were around the computers, leaving Anderson and Connor virtually in the shadows.  
  
One of the technicians stood hacking at an old keyboard. "CPU efficiency holding steady at 99.999%. Preparing to run the diagnostic scan." He turned over his shoulder to a woman standing huddled over a table working with something apparently electronic. "You ready?" he asked her.  
  
"Almost," she replied. "Central NNP rewired and"-there was a pause as she set down her tools and turned to face the inquiring technician-"ready for initial diagnostic interface." Anderson looked at what she held in her hand. He guessed that it was whatever the technician needed to perform the scan, but he still wasn't sure of exactly what it was. Anderson watched as the woman walked over the technician and held out the tiny rectangular chip. The technician took and moved a step over, out of Anderson's line of sight.  
  
When Anderson moved to get a better view of where the technician had taken the chip, he felt Connor grab his arm. "Nick," he whispered. "I want to restrain yourself before you take another step. What you will see on the other side of those monitors may or may not be what you had expected. Whatever happens, stay level-headed."  
  
Anderson fought his growing curiosity as he slowly nodded and walked cautiously toward the huddled people in front of him. By now, all the technicians had stopped what they were doing and congregated in a circle around something. The technician with the chip was the only one who visibly looked to be at work on whatever was in the center of the circle. As he sighed, the rest of the people hesitantly backed away as he nodded and backed away himself. "Check the connection," he said to the man beside him.  
  
The man nodded and moved to a monitor. "We are directly linked to the NNP and conversation between the two processors is holding."  
  
Anderson stopped. The center of the circle-there was a man. He didn't understand. The technicians had gathered around a man, who was seated emotionlessly on a raised chair-unblinking, unwavering. Anderson wanted to move closer to the man, but something in the back of his mind told him not to. Instead, he sidestepped past the technicians to get a clearer view of the man. He was a muscular man; his face had a chiseled, defined look about it from his hair to square jaw. He sat completely still as the technician who had the chip remained at his right side.  
  
Suddenly, the technician moved back and stood next to a cluster of other people. It became clear to Anderson. The technician didn't have the chip any longer. Quickly, Anderson made his way to the right side of the man. The technicians parted in surprise at Anderson's arrival. Anderson took a step backwards and withdrew his gun, pointing it the man seated before him. "Get back!" he yelled to the technicians nearby.  
  
Connor stepped forward. "Nick, put down the gun."  
  
Anderson tried to return Connor's eye contact, but his eyes were fixated on the exposed metallic plates and wiring making up the man's skill. Anderson looked into his eyes-into its eyes. It was just as had expected-nothing. Not a hint of thought, not a hint of a soul. Just one crimson red light hidden deep within the abyss of each pupil.  
  
"My God, general," Anderson muttered. He forced his eyes in Connor's direction. "What have you done?"  
  
"Only what needs to be done, Nick. To save us all."  
  
Anderson shook his head. "No, there has to be another way."  
  
"There is no other way, Nick! You said it yourself: no human can protect us. No human can protect me. Not back then, and unless you holster your sidearm, Captain, not ever."  
  
Anderson's gaze fell back on the man seated, unwavering throughout the confrontation. Before him sat a Terminator, as calm and as stoic as ever, the most senseless horror in existence. And here stood John Connor, side by side with one of them, ready to put it in control of virtually in the entire human race! Anderson held firm. "This is the enemy, for God's sake! This is an abomination!" He slowly and deliberately clicked off the safety mechanism on his pistol. "And it ends right now."  
  
Anderson felt a slight tingle on the back of his neck, but he shook it off and took aim on the cyborg. With an almost inhuman indifference, Anderson went to pull the trigger of his weapon, which was aimed perfectly at the head of the Terminator. He wanted to pull the trigger, but he couldn't. It was as if his finger has ceased to function. Almost instantly, his hand dropped the gun and sent it clanging to the floor. What was happening to him?  
  
Anderson realized that his legs started to buckle. They were ready to collapse. His vision narrowed. His limbs went numb. As Anderson's body fell to the floor, he saw Connor take a few steps forward in an attempt to catch him.  
  
Then, total blackness.  
****  
  
Anderson awoke on a firm mattress in what looked to be an officer's quarters somewhere in the Resistance compound. There were no computers, no Terminators, just someone sitting in the corner of the room. As Anderson's vision cleared, he saw that it was John Connor. Anderson rubbed the back of his neck, which felt sore in comparison to the tingle he felt earlier. "What happened?"  
  
Connor pulled out a small dart and tossed it to him. "Tranquilizer," he said. "Technician stabbed it into your back when you pulled your piece."  
  
Anderson scoffed and tried to stand up, but found that he head was reeling. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Should've let me done my job."  
  
Connor stood up and walked toward him. "Your job? Your job was to protect the cargo until you reach the depot. Within five minutes, your ready to blow the fricking head of the thing!"  
  
"You want me to protect a Terminator, general. My God, a Terminator! We're talking about a killing machine, the enemy!"  
  
"Not this thing, Nick. This thing is going to save us."  
  
Anderson again tried to stand, but the sedative they had used to knock him out still lingered. He remained seated. "How do we know it won't turn on us?"  
  
"The techs have completely rerouted his CPU. Totally reprogrammed and equipped it to follow your orders."  
  
Anderson raised his eyebrows. "Follow my orders?"  
  
"Just until you reach the depot. Then it's programmed to follow me. Well, the younger me."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Because like I said before," Connor replied, "you think like me. I trust you to be the one in command when you're out there. I wouldn't want anyone but you moving this thing." He moved to the door of the room and turned back to look at Anderson. "So what'll it be, Nick? Will you do this?"  
  
Anderson sighed and dropped his head. He still didn't trust a Terminator and was scared to death that they were making the wrong choice. But there was something about John Connor that led to some shred of assurance, something in the back of Anderson's said that told him to trust the assignment. He couldn't turn his back on the commander now, not when he needed Anderson the most. Slowly and deliberately, he rose from the bed and facing Connor. He gave a crisp salute. "I'd follow you anywhere, General. If this is the only way, then the Rangers will see it to completion. You have my word."  
  
Connor returned the salute and smiled. "Thank you, Nick. Now we need to get going; your team just radioed in. They said they're under 20 minutes out."  
  
"Yes, sir," Anderson replied. But he was still uncertain. Anderson trusted Connor's judgment, but would his team be ready?  
  
--to be continued--  
  
Please drop some comments. Suggestion are always welcome. CHAPTER IV IS ON THE WAY! 


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